


let me photograph you in this light

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: after the night, the morning comes (or: star wars lawyers au) [8]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: #stophittingmybf - obi-wan kenobi probably, (he's trying tho), Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cats, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Kidnapping, M/M, MCU fusion, Office Romance, Redemption, Slash, Tea, Vigilantism, and all the myriad problems that come with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So, I suppose the word on the street had that much right,” says Cut Lawquane, flipping up a mask, when Obi-wan walks inside his workshop, just behind Anakin. “You and Kenobi?”</i>
</p><p>or: Obi-wan Kenobi and eight things he learns about Anakin Skywalker after Anakin comes to work for him. (alternatively: Obi-wan and Anakin make it work, amidst vigilantes, terrible tea, and kidnapping attempts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> titles from Adele's "When We Were Young".

i. The thing about living with Anakin Skywalker, Obi-wan had learned very quickly into their first room assignment together, was that Anakin could not, for the life of him, clean up after himself.

The carpet had always seemed to have _something_ stuck in it, a screw or a bolt or a wire that Anakin had forgotten about until Obi-wan stepped on it and screamed bloody murder. The table seemed perpetually covered with his latest project, with papers and candy wrappers, everything that a man could possibly pile onto a table and then some. You could never walk into the dorm room without tripping over one of Anakin’s newest pet projects trilling happily about something and then banging your chin on the table and biting your tongue nearly in half on the way down--

\-- _ahem_.

So, yes, maybe Obi-wan’s expecting Anakin to be a little more messier.

Six months in, though, and he’s yet to trip over Artoo or some new project of Anakin’s, or accidentally slice his foot open on a screw or a bolt. Sure, the kitchen table occasionally gets a bit messy, but the state of it only lasts a few hours before it’s miraculously clean again.

“Huh,” says Obi-wan, after he chances on Anakin shutting his toolbox closed and chatting idly to Artoo. “The table seems remarkably clean.”

“I hope you’re not implying I’m a slob, Ben,” says Anakin, with no real heat behind his tone. Artoo adds a beeping noise that draws a startled laugh out of Anakin.

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow. “I do hope that wasn’t offensive,” he says, mildly. He’s pretty sure it was. This _is_ Artoo.

“Nope,” says Anakin, and Obi-wan just knows he’s lying, because he’s smiling a little too innocently up at him. “But you did just offend Artoo.”

“I am not going to apologize to your ex-wife’s Roomba for hurting its feelings, Anakin,” Obi-wan huffs.

Anakin’s quiet for a long moment.

Then he sets Artoo down on the floor and says, “Go for it,” and the damn Roomba goes straight for Obi-wan’s ankle at a speed that normal Roombas that haven’t been heavily modified by a bored law student can’t even hope to reach.

Obi-wan lets out a curse, hobbles over to the nearest chair and says, “Fine, fine--I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Artoo. Rest assured I won’t be doing that again.” He fixes a glare on Anakin and says, “Now _call it off_.”

“Back off, Artoo,” says Anakin, and the Roomba retreats to nudge gently up against his foot and trill at him. “Yeah, yeah, buddy, I know.”

“How you can understand that thing, I’ll never know,” Obi-wan sighs. He looks at the table again, almost entirely clean save for some scorch marks, and says, “I don’t recall you being very good at cleaning our dorm room all those years ago.”

“Things change,” says Anakin, glancing downwards at Artoo again, the smile disappearing. “I--didn’t have much of a chance to do a lot of tinkering back then anyway. Too much shit to do.” He shrugs. “On the bright side, my apartment never looked like a tornado passed through it.”

Obi-wan remembers what Anakin’s apartment looked like, the sleek lines and edges and bare walls, the impersonal elegance, the soulless quality it had. How had Anakin lived in that for so long?

(He thinks he knows the answer--by stubbornly, willfully blinding himself to how off-putting it was. Like so many other things.)

“Besides, it wasn’t like I had anyone else living with me for more than a weekend,” Anakin adds, picking up Artoo again and placing it back on the table. “Do you think I should upgrade Artoo’s taser or--”

Obi-wan stares at him, then at Artoo, who extends a robotic arm from a compartment that Obi-wan _knows_ it didn’t have before. Electricity crackles between its prongs in demonstration.

“Why would Artoo need a taser?” Obi-wan asks.

“Padmé hasn’t got a dog and I’ll be damned if the twins decide to take shifts keeping watch,” says Anakin. “Anyway, Artoo already has a taser.”

“Roombas don’t _have_ tasers,” says Obi-wan, but even now he’s mourning the last vestiges of _normal_ that he’s grown so attached to. “They’re not designed to have one.”

“Then the Roomba guys are missing out on a profitable market,” Anakin replies. “Anyway, what do you think? Should I upgrade Artoo’s taser? I’d need to get more parts, longer-lasting batteries, and I’d have to improve on the earlier rig-up I did--”

“Anakin,” says Obi-wan, at last. “The last time Artoo tased anyone, it was me, and you found me drooling into the carpet. I think his taser’s strong enough.”

“One _time_ , Ben,” says Anakin.

\--

(An interlude from last weekend:

It’s a peaceful night, for once. Obi-wan is quietly grateful for that--it means that Luke and Leia might come back earlier than usual, with less hurts than usual for him or Anakin to fuss over.

They’re not here yet, though. Obi-wan squints at the window, yawns, then blearily rubs at his eyes as he walks towards the kitchen.

Something bumps up against his ankle, beeps out a query. Later, Obi-wan will realize that it was less of a query and more of a _warning_ , but for now the tone of it escapes his sleepy mind.

Obi-wan gives a sigh, mumbles, “Go away.”

The shrill beeping reaches a higher pitch. Obi-wan nudges the Roomba with his ankle dismissively.

He’s not expecting the taser.

And he’s certainly not expecting to come to his senses on his very nice carpet, to Anakin worriedly shaking him by his shoulders.

“Are you all right?” he asks, worriedly. “Artoo said he shocked somebody he shouldn’t have and I was _worried_ \--”

“I'm fine,” Obi-wan grumbles. God, he’s got a headache. “Control your vacuum cleaner next time.”

Artoo trills something at him, sounding offended. Obi-wan fixes it with a glare, distantly noting that he’s glaring at a glorified vacuum cleaner.

“He says you were sneaking around the kitchen and he didn’t _know_ ,” says Anakin. “I should probably get--I dunno, some of that facial recognition software? What do you think, Artoo?”

“Please do,” says Obi-wan. “For my dignity’s sake.”)

\--

“I’m _just_ saying, Solo, there’s no way Ahsoka’s going to beat Kanan this time,” a young boy with dyed blue hair that Obi-wan quickly recognizes as Ezra Bridger is saying, when Obi-wan and Anakin come in together. “Our case is _airtight_.”

“You say that now,” says Han, with a smirk, “but wait till the case is done. Then you’re gonna owe me a shitload of money.”

“In your dreams, pal,” Bridger scoffs.

“Han,” says Obi-wan, “what have we said about betting on our cases with Ezra?”

“How else am I gonna make some money around here?” Han asks. “I’m an unpaid intern and you can barely afford to pay tall, dark and scary there.”

Ezra--doesn’t say a word. He stares at Anakin as if he’s seen a ghost for a moment, eyes wide with shock and fear, before he seems to rally, fixing a bright smile onto his face. “Hey, uh, I gotta go!” he says, falsely cheery. “Just remembered Kanan wanted me to, uh, check the power couplings on his computer. I’ll see you around, Han, Mr. Kenobi?”

“Yeah, see you around, kiddo,” says Han.

“Do try not to set anything on fire again, Ezra,” says Obi-wan, noting the fearful way Ezra glances back at Anakin before he scurries out the room.

“Jesus,” says Han, “I’ve never seen Ezra cut and run so fast. The hell did you do to him, Skywalker?”

Anakin shrugs, pulling his chair up and slumping into it. “I don’t know, he looks kind of familiar,” he says. “What did you say his last name was? Bridger?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Anakin,” says Obi-wan, “did you meet Ezra before?”

“A few times,” Anakin admits, seeming almost to hunch in on himself. “It--never panned out very well, let’s just say.” He runs his gloved hand through his hair, very steadfastly not looking either of them in the eye. “He’s scared. It’s understandable.”

There’s something there, Obi-wan realizes, that Anakin doesn’t say. He decides he’d rather not know--not right now, anyway, not for sure.

But he can make a guess.

\--

ii. As in all things, there is an advantage and a _dis_ advantage to having Anakin in his bed.

One advantage is that both of them sleep better, with a warm body next to them. Obi-wan’s a little shocked by how easily he falls asleep, these days, and for how long, when someone he trusts is sleeping next to him.

One disadvantage is that Anakin is a _terrible_ bedmate.

The punch wakes Obi-wan up first. It’s gentle for a punch, more of a tap than a proper hit, but the fact still remains that Obi-wan wakes up cold and shivering with a fist in his face and a snoring boyfriend who’s somehow managed to take over most of the bed in his sleep.

And, apparently, hogged all the blankets, Obi-wan realizes when he feels a cold chill down his back.

“Goddammit,” he mumbles, sitting up. He glances at the clock--it’s four in the morning, and his boyfriend has stolen his blankets and his bed.

“You are the worst,” Obi-wan tells Anakin’s sleeping form, with no real heat.

Anakin answers with a heavy snore, arms wrapping around a pillow and clutching it close to his bare chest. Dead to the world, then, at least for a few hours more.

Obi-wan sighs, presses a soft kiss to Anakin’s forehead, his fingers brushing lightly over the open circle tattoo on his wrist. Anakin just--snores, but Obi-wan sees him smile softly and mumble something that sounds like, “ _c’mon, Ben, let’s go fuck over some Sith lords, it’ll be great_.”

Obi-wan snorts out a laugh, then carefully extracts himself from the tangled bedsheets, grabbing a spare bathrobe from the bathroom and tugging it on.

\--

His tea is steeping when he hears the sound of footsteps on his fire escape, then a familiar knock on the window-- _rat a tat tat tat, TAT TAT._

Obi-wan sighs, then gets up to open the window and let Ahsoka come inside. “Isn’t it a bit too late for you to be out?” he asks, tartly.

“You’re not my mom, Obi-wan,” Ahsoka shoots back, taking off her mask as Obi-wan draws the curtains closed. “I happened to come by and figured I’d check on you guys, before you ask.”

“Well, as you can see, we’re fine,” says Obi-wan. “Anakin’s asleep right now, though.”

“There’s a miracle,” says Ahsoka, before pausing and sniffing the air. “Oh, come on,” she says, “have you been spending half our budget on tea?”

Obi-wan blinks at Ahsoka. “No,” he says. “I haven’t been buying tea, I figured you were the one getting it in bulk and dropping it off at my doorstep.”

“I don’t even like tea that much, I already put my senses through enough,” says Ahsoka. “Especially not-- _Earl Grey_ , jeez, you’ve been in America for _how_ long?”

“You plebeian, I barely even get to drink tea at all these days,” Obi-wan huffs. “And you damn well know I’ve been in America longer than I’ve lived in England.”

“You sure?” Ahsoka teases. “Because you kind of sound like you just got off the plane. I could give you directions.”

“Ha,” says Obi-wan. “Have you and Luke been patrolling together more often?”

“No, but not for lack of trying,” says Ahsoka, as Obi-wan leads her into the kitchen. She wrinkles her nose at the smell of the tea, the tea-hating plebeian. “Ugh.”

“Your senses just need to get more accustomed to it,” Obi-wan loftily informs her.

“Nope, too much work, and your kind of tea smells terrible,” says Ahsoka. “It’s coffee for me until the day I die. Where do you keep your mugs again?”

“Ben,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchen’s doorway, “the hell’s Snips doing here at four in the goddamn morning?”

“What, I can’t come by to visit you guys?” Ahsoka huffs.

Obi-wan turns, sees Anakin wearing a ratty shirt and boxers, hair mussed from sleep. “You do know you should be sleeping now, right?” he asks.

“I could ask you that too,” says Anakin. “Along with, why’d you leave the bed? It’s a cozy bed.”

“Cozy enough that you seemed hell-bent on taking it over and leaving nothing for me,” says Obi-wan. “I decided on a tactical retreat.”

“He means to say he made weird-smelling tea,” says Ahsoka.

Anakin makes a noncommittal noise, trudges over to where Gertrude is sitting pretty on the counter and opens the cupboard just above. “And expensive as all hell,” he grumbles. “Can’t your favorite brand be cheaper? It’d be easier on my wallet.”

Obi-wan stares at him and says, “Is _that_ why you’ve been bitching about being broke for days?”

Anakin doesn’t even pause in getting his mug, the one that reads _Ours is the Fury_ in bold, black letters. “Cheaper brand,” he says.

“How come he gets tea and I don’t get anything?” Ahsoka teases, pointing at Anakin with her free hand, the other holding her mask. “I mean, I’m your boss too.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” says Anakin, his tone blunt, and Obi-wan’s stomach does a funny little flip at the matter-of-fact delivery, as if it’s just a fact of life. It is, kind of. “He gets priority. And you’re picky about everything.”

“You try having super-senses, see how that goes,” says Ahsoka.

“You _hate_ tea,” says Obi-wan. “As I recall, every time I went to buy some you’d beg off and foist Ahsoka off on me.”

“Which was where my tea-hate started,” says Ahsoka. “Seriously, the smell is _horrible_. And grocery stores don’t really smell like roses in the first place.”

“Well, I’m not buying it for me, am I?” Anakin says, pressing buttons. “Besides, it’s less risky to get than Vos’s moonshine.”

“I do not even want to know how you know where to find Quinlan Vos or how to get moonshine out of him,” says Ahsoka.

Obi-wan looks back at his tea, still steeping. “I appreciate the sacrifice,” he says, dryly, expecting Anakin to parry back as he usually does.

He doesn’t. Instead he actually pauses, glances at Obi-wan in shock as if he’s offered up something priceless with nary a thought, and--very softly, very hesitantly--smiles, just a little.

For a moment, they’re silent, and Obi-wan basks in it, in the serenity and peace of this one early morning.

Then Anakin says, “Yeah, you’d _better_ , this tea costs more than the parts for Luke’s webshooters do. _Combined._ ”

Ahsoka snickers and says, “Liar.”

“How can you--”

“Heartbeat,” she says.

“That will never not be a little bit creepy,” says Anakin.

“Useful, though,” says Obi-wan, chuckling and pouring himself a cup of tea, as Anakin slides into a seat with a cup of coffee and a jar of sugar. For a moment, if he closes his eyes, he can almost see their old dorm room in Columbia, sunlight beginning to stream in through the windows.

Except Ahsoka’s in black, her mask on the table, and there’s a purplish bruise already blooming above her right eye.

Not for the first time, Obi-wan wonders how long they can keep this up. How long _Ahsoka_ can keep this up, and Luke and Leia as well.

After all, vigilantes aren’t exactly known for having long lifespans.

\--

(An interlude:

“Jesus,” says Ahsoka another day, when they’re the only ones manning the office and Obi-wan and Han have gone to talk to a client at the precinct, “what I wouldn’t give for better armor. The suit is _heavy_.”

“That’s what you get for ordering heavy armor off eBay and Amazon,” says Anakin, idly doodling on a legal pad. “I could’ve told you never to do that.”

“When I started you weren’t around to,” says Ahsoka, and Anakin winces at how blunt her tone is. No, he hadn’t been, and look what that’s wrought. “I mean, I’m used to the feel of it now, but when I started wearing it-- _ugh_.”

“You’ve got to pay a price if you want to come home,” says Anakin. “In your case it’s sweating under heavy armor.”

“Ugh,” says Ahsoka, slumping into a chair. “What I wouldn’t give for something lighter, though, honestly.”

Anakin shrugs, says, “I used to wear this lining--we had this guy, who’d somehow come up with a lighter, stronger version of Kevlar. Almost like chainmail, except you barely noticed it was there. You could even use it as...lining…”

He puts his pen down, trailing off. “Oh,” he says.

“Oh, what?” Ahsoka asks.

Anakin practically jumps to his feet, racing to the rack to yank his hoodie off and tug it on. “Snips, I’m sorry, but I gotta go,” he says, half-formed ideas spinning wildly around his head. It’s been a while since he had that feeling, since something snapped together into place like this in his head, and he has to admit he’s missed it terribly.

“Skyguy, where the _hell_ \--”

“It isn’t illegal, Snips, I promise!” Anakin says, stepping out the door. “I’ll be back before Ben and Solo get here. You can thank me then.”

“What the hell are you talking about? _Anakin!_ ”)

\--

iii. Sometimes Anakin disappears for hours at a time. Obi-wan--worries, a lot, when he does, because it usually means he’s gone to ask around the underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen about a case they’re working on, the denizens of which would be quite happy to leave Anakin’s body face-down in a ditch.

They’d also be very happy to leave Han’s body face-down in a ditch, considering his many debts, but Chewbacca’s enough that everyone thinks twice about it. And Fulcrum--well, the less said about Fulcrum, the better. Same goes for Luke and Leia.

This is different, though. Anakin’s got that glint in his eye that says he’s Working On Something, but so far all Obi-wan’s seen is him scribbling frantically on whatever paper he can get his hands on, then tugging on his ratty Columbia hoodie and heading out.

So, yeah, maybe Obi-wan’s a little bit nervous. A lot of what they’re doing right now is outright _illegal_ \--aiding and abetting, vigilantism, and god only knows what Han gets up to on his free time. He’s not too sure what _Anakin’s_ getting up to, but he’s got a distinctively bad feeling about it.

“Probably fucks around and fixes shit,” Han says, when Obi-wan asks him what he thinks Anakin might be getting up to. “I don’t know, I don’t keep tabs on him.”

“I have no clue,” says Ahsoka, when she's asked. For once, the bruise peeking out from under her collar looks old, already on its way to fading. “All he said was that he knew a guy who could get me better armor, then he raced out of the office like his ass was on fire. Hey, do you know anything about this Snoke guy muscling in?”

Padmé rolls her eyes when he asks her, says, “I’m a little busy right now-- _if you rip those stitches I’ll rip you a new asshole, sit down_ \--and no, I have no idea. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” She whips around and shouts at a patient trying to slowly get his IV out, “You take that thing out and I will have you _cuffed to your bed_ , you hear me?”

“Eventful day?” Obi-wan dryly asks, watching the scene of general chaos in the emergency room.

“You have no idea,” Padmé sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Neither twin is any help either, because when Obi-wan asks them after picking them up from school, Luke’s answer is a cheerful, “I’ve got an idea, but I’m not sure, I’ll ask him when the weekend hits,” and Leia’s is a much less cheerful, “I don’t know, it’s not something we talk about much. Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

Obi-wan winces a little, at Leia’s acerbic tone, but he has to admit--she’s got a point.

\--

Eventually, he asks Anakin during a lunch date.

“I’m not doing anything illegal if that’s what you’re worried about,” Anakin says, twisting his fork and lifting it up to slurp up the noodles. “I like not being in jail.”

“Eat like a _civilized person_ , Anakin,” Obi-wan huffs. “And I don’t suppose you want to go into more detail about it?”

Anakin, to his credit, finishes swallowing first before he answers, “Well, I could. It isn’t _illegal_ , at least not outright.”

“So it’s _semi_ -legal,” says Obi-wan, feeling a distinctive headache coming on. There are far too many people in his law firm who keep blurring the line between dubiously legal and outright illegal, really, himself included. “What are you doing?”

Anakin doesn’t answer right away. Instead he slurps up and swallows another mouthful of noodles, then twists his fork around in the soup, gathering up more. “I think,” he says, at last, “it’s best if I show you.”

“Show me what, exactly?” Obi-wan asks.

“The reason why Ahsoka’s been coming into work with fewer bruises,” says Anakin, looking up to meet Obi-wan’s eyes. “How long is your 5 o’clock appointment going to take?”

“No more than an hour, why?” says Obi-wan.

Anakin sets the fork down onto the bowl. “Great,” he says. “Let’s go early.”

\--

Seven at night, and New York is barely starting to wind down--at least, as much as a city known for never sleeping is bound to wind down. Obi-wan steps out of the office building and glances upward, almost expecting to catch sight of a black-clad figure taking off into the night.

Nothing. Of course Ahsoka wouldn’t take off just yet, she doesn’t stash her costume in the office. Too much of a chance Han might stumble on it and come to the right conclusions.

Anakin comes out a few seconds later, wearing his worn Columbia hoodie, hands tucked into his pockets. He grins at Obi-wan and says, “You sure you don’t wanna go home and change into something more comfortable than that?”

“I think I can manage well enough,” says Obi-wan, smoothing out his tie. “What about you?”

“Eh,” says Anakin, “I like this hoodie. Easier to breathe in.” He hooks his elbow around Obi-wan’s, says as they set off, “What do you know about Rex and Cody’s family?”

“Other than _they are not clones_?” Obi-wan dryly says.

“We live in a world where Captain America--a genetically-engineered super-soldier from World War II--has an active Twitter account, and Thor exists,” says Anakin. “Clones aren’t so far-fetched anymore, Ben, it’s a perfectly viable theory--”

“Absolutely not,” says Obi-wan. “Yes, they all look uncannily alike. So does Ahsoka and that actress on _How to Get Away with Murder_ \--I forget her name, but last I checked, neither are clones.”

Anakin runs his teeth over his lower lip, not that Obi-wan’s been paying attention. “You never know,” he says. “But anyway--yeah, other than that.”

“They all have a tendency to go into either law or the underworld or both,” says Obi-wan. “Though Kix is an EMT over in San Diego, so he’s something of an exception.”

“You know any Fett who’s a tailor?” Anakin asks.

Obi-wan thinks for a moment. The Fetts don’t strike him as a family very given to any occupation that doesn’t involve the law in some way, Kix aside, so he says, “No, not really.”

“I do,” says Anakin, as they cross the street. “Okay, sort of. He took his wife’s name when they got married, so I guess he doesn’t really count as a Fett anymore. Good man, just--didn’t like me, for a bit there.”

“Wonder why,” Obi-wan murmurs. He can make a good guess, and sure enough:

“I sort of--I threatened his family,” says Anakin, glancing down at his feet and kicking at a rock. “Not now, but when I worked under Palpatine.”

“Why him, in particular?” Obi-wan asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Anakin isn’t Vader, not anymore, but sometimes some of the things he says, some of the things he’s done as Vader, make Obi-wan’s stomach churn uneasily. “After all, there’s no shortage of tailors in the city.”

Anakin’s silent for a moment as they walk on, turning a corner into an alleyway. “He invented this thing,” he says, at last. “Like body armor, only more flexible, and lighter to boot. You could sew it into somebody’s suit and no one would even notice it was there.” He shrugs, says, “Useful, for someone with a lot of enemies gunning for his position.”

“And,” says Obi-wan, “for a vigilante.”

“Yeah,” says Anakin.

“So you went to talk to him again,” says Obi-wan. “How well did he take it, exactly?”

Anakin coughs, as they emerge from the alleyway. “Not very,” he says.

\--

(An interlude:

“Well,” says Anakin, staring down at the gun pointed in his face, “is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“We’re not _friends_ ,” says Cut Lawquane, his aim rock-steady, his eyes narrowed. “The hell do you want?”

“I just want to talk,” says Anakin, before taking his hands out of his pockets. “Look, I’m unarmed and alone.” And broke, but that’s obvious enough from the Columbia hoodie he’s wearing, a ratty thing compared to what Cut must be used to seeing on him.

“You want to _talk_ ,” says Cut, incredulously. “More like you want something.”

Anakin deflates, a little, shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Yes,” he admits. “But I--hear me out. Please. Put the gun away, I swear I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Cut looks him over, for a moment, then opens the door just enough so Anakin can step through. Sure, the gun’s still aimed at him, but Cut’s finger is off the trigger and he’s thumbing the safety back on, so Anakin considers it a success.

The Lawquanes’ home is a cozy little place, if small, with family pictures hanging on the wall--Anakin notes the conspicuous lack of any Fetts in any of them--and framed certificates and awards on a little table, for Shaeeah and Jake. The kids they adopted, Anakin remembers.

Cut maneuvers the two of them to the living room, gestures for Anakin to sit down on an armchair before he sets the gun down on the coffee table.

“What do you want?” Cut asks.

“A favor,” says Anakin.

“Right,” says Cut. “Okay, lemme rephrase it--why should I help you instead of going with what Suu would say and doing the exact opposite?”

Anakin opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He doesn’t have anything to offer him, nor does he have any leverage over him, not anymore. He feels naked, like he’s just walked into a lion’s den clad in Lady Gaga’s meat dress. “I don’t have anything,” he says, at last. “And you’re well within your rights to kick me out or call the police on me or just shoot me, but--I need your help.”

“Really,” says Cut. “All right, let the other shoe drop. What’s gonna happen to my kids if I don’t comply?”

“Nothing,” says Anakin. “Absolutely nothing.” He shrugs. “I’m an ex-con on parole working as a secretary for an incredibly tiny law firm with more _pro bono_ than paying clients. I can’t do shit to you even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”

“So you’re expecting me to believe you’re, what, a changed man?” Cut asks. “You’ve turned over a new leaf, found God or some shit?”

“Some shit,” says Anakin, thinking of Leia in a hospital bed. “My point is, I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important. I wouldn’t be asking you to help me if it wasn’t important. I wouldn’t be sitting here with no leverage and no protection if it wasn’t _important_ , you have to believe me.”

“So what’s this important thing that you’re here for?” Cut asks.

Anakin opens his bag, sets a file down in front of him. “I--know a few vigilantes who tend to run around in either very heavy armor or none at all,” he says, as Cut picks the folder up and looks through the designs.

“How does a secretary working for a tiny-ass law firm get to know _a few vigilantes_?” Cut asks.

_They’re my kids and my best friend._ “We’ve worked closely with them,” says Anakin, carefully choosing his words. It isn’t a _lie_ , he does work closely with Ahsoka, it’s just that he does it when she’s not being Fulcrum. “They’re valuable sources of information, and they keep the city safe.”

“You and your city bullshit,” Cut says. “Hell’s Kitchen is ten goddamn blocks.”

“So I’ve been told,” Anakin says, dryly. “Look, I’ll tell you upfront that I can’t pay you, and I lost any leverage I had over you after Palpatine’s downfall. I could ask my colleagues to make you a top priority should you ever need legal aid, but other than that I don’t really have anything. And I’d understand if you don’t want me to--”

“You said you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” says Cut, looking up from the designs. “And these vigilantes seem pretty good at taking care of themselves.”

Anakin lets out a breath. True, Ahsoka and Leia and Luke are very good at keeping safe, but he’s not sure how much of that is sheer luck, and how long until one of them runs out of luck. “I worry,” he says, quiet. “They’re--They’re good people, Cut. And you’re the best person I know who can help me keep them safe. _Please_.”

Cut stares at him a moment, then says, “Shit. You care for them.”

“I know them,” Anakin says. “I can’t tell you how, but I can tell you that--they’re good people. Good kids. I don’t want them hurt.” He lets out a breath. “I’ll be in your debt,” he says, a little desperate. “I’ll owe you a favor, a hundred favors. Just--please.”

Cut sighs, takes out a sheet of paper and drops it onto the table. “I’ll have to streamline the vest’s design a little,” he says. “But you have a good idea with the built-in scarf to hide their identity.”

“You’ll do it?” Anakin asks.

“Yeah,” says Cut. “Christ. This is a bad idea, and I still trust you about as far as I can throw you, but I’ll do it. Drop by my workshop in four days, I’ll have the prototype ready by then.”

Anakin breathes out, slumping into the chair, giddy relief crashing over him like a wave. “Thank you,” he says.)

\--

“So, I suppose the word on the street had that much right,” says Cut Lawquane, flipping up a mask, when Obi-wan walks inside the workshop, just behind Anakin. “You and Kenobi?”

“Talented tongue,” says Anakin, with a smug grin.

Obi-wan jabs his elbow into his side ( _ow, Ben!_ ) and says, “I thought you’d left Hell’s Kitchen, Cut.”

“The kids like it here,” says Cut. “They’ve got friends and everything. Suu and I figured uprooting them wouldn’t work out too well, so.” He shrugs. “Then Skywalker here showed up at my doorstep.”

“Which reminds me,” says Anakin, sliding into a somewhat more serious tone, “is it done?”

Cut nods to a black suit, mounted on a mannequin. Obi-wan recognizes it--it’s very similar to the suit Ahsoka uses, the design’s just been tweaked a little to allow for--aerodynamics, and more comfort. “Just needs testing,” he says. “I take it you’ll be testing it out?”

“Yeah, like I always do,” says Anakin, before he glances at Obi-wan. “Or--Ben, weren’t you a crack shot back in college?”

“You’re the one who kept it up,” Obi-wan shoots back, getting a slight wince from Anakin. “Besides, I never liked it anyway. Too uncivilized.”

“You live in Hell’s Kitchen and you're worried about looking _too uncivilized_ ,” says Anakin, shaking his head in disbelief. “All right, Cut. I’ll have the gun, Ben’ll have the knife, let’s see how good this suit is.”

\--

It’s a very good suit. Obi-wan figures that much out after an hour or so spent slashing, hacking, slicing on it, getting nary a rip on it. Even Anakin, as good as he is with a gun, is unsuccessful at making much more than a dent, at least at a range.

“You’re rather good at this,” Obi-wan says to Cut. “Have you considered getting it patented?”

“You need more clients?” Cut dryly asks.

Obi-wan shakes his head. “Ahsoka and I are defense attorneys,” he says. “Though we do dabble in other areas, I’m afraid laws involving patents and copyrights were never our strong suit.”

“But it was Skywalker’s,” says Cut.

Obi-wan glances at Anakin, who’s fiddling about with a sewing machine--a favor, apparently, for the suit. “Not really,” he says, “but Anakin picked it up much better than I did.” Not that it’ll do much good for him now. “I do know someone who can help--Kanan Jarrus? He’s a defense attorney, but he’s dabbled somewhat in patents as well, and he charges reasonable prices.”

“I’ll think about it,” says Cut.

\--

iv. In retrospect, Obi-wan should’ve seen the kidnapping coming. After all, with the kinds of cases they take, and with his connections, he’s sort of surprised he wasn’t kidnapped sooner.

Still.

“Did you really have to kidnap me in the middle of a date?” he asks his most recent guard, somewhat irritated about that still. That, and the recent roughing-up he received at the man’s hands. “I was enjoying it.”

The man spits something rude at him in Italian, which narrows the list of suspects down pretty well. He scrolls through Obi-wan’s contacts, pacing restlessly, nervously.

“A _date_ ,” Obi-wan says. “That I was looking forward to all week.”

“Shut the fuck up,” says the man.

“Is this about the Bonomo case?” Obi-wan asks, tugging at his restraints and wincing at the sudden burning sensation in his wrists. Also the pain that keeps lancing through his side when he breathes. Right, no more tugging now. “Because I can save you the trouble now and tell you that there is no way Ahsoka will drop it, and that unless you let me go right now, I’ll have to press charges against you and your employers--the Nazarios, are they not?”

“How did you--” the guy starts, before he stops, recovers, and says, “You’re trying to trick me into talking, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” says Obi-wan. “Merely informing you that I already know who’s employing you, and that it would perhaps be in your best interests to let me go.”

“And why the hell should I do that?” the man demands. “I’m fucked if I do--they’ll have my _head_ \--”

“They won’t,” says Obi-wan, with conviction. “We’ll work out a deal with the DA, you can go into witness protection. Do you have a family? You can take them with you.”

“No,” says the man, “no, just--s’just my dog and me, nobody else.” His eyes narrow. “You telling the truth?”

“I swear to you, I am,” says Obi-wan, sincerely.

The man’s quiet, then he says, “Mateo says nobody ever leaves, though. Once you’re in it, you’re in it for _life_.”

“I personally know a man who did leave,” says Obi-wan. “He was mired in crime for so long and had gone so high up his organization’s command structure that I half-thought that he would never come back. Yet he _did_. Rather spectacularly, at that.” He meets his guard’s wide, nervous eyes with a calm, steady gaze, and says, “How long have you been under the Nazarios’ employ?”

The man says, “A--A few months.”

“Then you still have a chance,” says Obi-wan. “Let me go and turn state’s evidence, and I’ll recommend to my associates that we take your case.”

“How much is it gonna cost me?” the man asks.

“Next to nothing,” says Obi-wan. “As it just so happens, a majority of our cases are _pro bono_. If we do need to charge you, it’ll be low enough for you to afford.” It’s true enough, anyway, the man just doesn’t need to know that they don’t have that many cases right now.

The man chews at his lower lip, clearly considering.

Then a stick comes flying out of nowhere and hits the guard on the head, and Obi-wan heaves a sigh. Then he lets out a hiss of pain, because _ow_ his ribs.

“You couldn’t have _waited_?” he asks.

Ahsoka--no, _Fulcrum_ steps through the doorway. Behind her is a thud and a soft moan like someone’s just hit the ground. “You’re welcome, Kenobi,” she huffs, and that’s all Ahsoka, even underneath that mask of hers. “And no, we couldn’t wait, because Chewbacca’s currently sitting on your boyfriend so he doesn’t fly off the handle.”

Obi-wan sighs. “I had it in hand,” he says. “I was close to convincing him to let me go himself.”

“Yeah, but I saved you the time,” says Fulcrum, kneeling down now next to him, deft fingers untying his restraints. “And, judging from that noise I’m hearing from you, more beatings. Jesus, Obi-wan, you need a hospital.”

“I’m fine,” says Obi-wan.

“I can hear your rib,” says Fulcrum, a distinct note of exasperation creeping into her tone. Obi-wan doesn’t need to see her eyes to know that she’s probably glaring at him right now through her mask. “You are going to a _hospital_.”

“The guard you knocked out needs our help,” Obi-wan says. “He’s terrified of the Nazarios--he confirmed it was them behind this, by the way--and he’s willing to turn on them if we render legal aid.”

“Skyguy’s going to be pissed,” Fulcrum comments, letting him drape his arm around her shoulders and lean heavily on her for support.

“Remind him my guard’s much wiser than he is,” Obi-wan says, making an attempt at doing more than being dragged along as Fulcrum half-hauls him out and wincing at every jolt to his side. “He didn’t even bother to try going into witness protection.”

\--

Anakin bursts into the hospital room first--hair wild, eyes frightened, clothes a mess, he looks the furthest thing from the usual image he projects of someone much more put-together than he actually is.

“Ben,” he says, sounding absolutely panicked, “ _Ben_ \--”

“I’m fine, before you ask,” says Obi-wan, annoyed. He sits up, and can’t keep back the hiss of pain as he does so. “I’m _fine_ ,” he insists, as Anakin takes a seat beside him.

“Snips and Padmé said you had a cracked rib and heavy internal bleeding,” says Anakin. “You are not _fine_.”

“I’m not dead,” says Obi-wan.

“You could’ve been,” says Anakin. “I nearly--did Snips tell you, Chewbacca had to knock me out before I could go looking for you myself, goddammit, you are _not allowed_ to do that again, do you hear me--”

“Rest assured, the next time someone endeavors to kidnap me, I’ll tell them I’m not allowed to be kidnapped again,” Obi-wan dryly says. “I’m sure they’ll be willing to honor that.”

Anakin gives a slightly hysterical laugh, takes Obi-wan’s hand and says, “You tell them I’m going to sue them for everything they’ve got if they don’t let you go. Because I will, and I am.”

“Maybe sue the Nazarios _after_ we can conclusively prove it was them,” says Obi-wan. “Which I was on my way to proving myself, by the way.”

“Yeah, Snips said,” says Anakin, fingers tracing the open circle tattoo on Obi-wan’s wrist, tracing over his pulse, gentle and tender and terrified. “Only you could actually try to talk your kidnappers into letting you go. Only _you_.”

“And I was very close to convincing him into doing so,” says Obi-wan. “Which reminds me, try not to sue him too.”

Anakin’s lips press into a thin line, eyes narrowing. “Why not?” he asks.

Obi-wan tilts his head up, unflinching, to meet his gaze. “Because I promised him a deal, and I can’t have you trying to clean him out no matter how much you think he might deserve it,” he says.

“He _beat you up_ \--”

“Standard kidnapper fare, don’t tell me you’ve never instructed such a thing,” Obi-wan says, and there’s no heat in his tone, just sternness, but Anakin flinches back anyway, visibly enough that Obi-wan’s heart twists a little, and he says, “Anakin--”

“No,” says Anakin, sounding a little hoarse, “you’re right--I did. Sometimes.” He bows his head, fingers lacing with Obi-wan’s. “Often,” he corrects, sounding miserable. “Now that I’m on the other side of it, though, it’s--I hate it.”

“It is a barbaric practice,” says Obi-wan. “There are other ways to get information out of someone without resorting to violence or cruelty.”

“I’m not the one who got called the Negotiator when we were in college,” says Anakin. “You have your ways, I have-- _had_ mine. Had.” He lets out a breath, then says, softly, “When I realized--I was so scared. The survival rate was never all that good, when--back then. And I didn’t--I lost you once before, Ben, I don’t want to lose you again for good.”

Obi-wan disentangles his hand from Anakin’s, in order to rub his thumb along the open circle tattoo on his wrist. “Anakin,” he says, quiet. “You are not going to lose me. Not if I have a say in it.” And he’s got one, this time. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” he adds, somewhat dryly.

“Good,” says Anakin, then he leans in to kiss him. “You’re not losing me again either,” he whispers in his ear when they break away, “so you’re stuck with me too.”

“You’re not the worst person to be stuck with, I suppose,” says Obi-wan, then he doesn’t say anything more for the next few minutes, his mouth too preoccupied with--other things.


	2. it was just like a song

v. Obi-wan picks up a cat, one day.

It’s a mangy little thing, just small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. It darts out from an alleyway and butts his ankle, and he kneels down and--

\--offers his hand.

He doesn’t really know why. New York is full of stray cats, and kittens die every day in alleyways like this, but Obi-wan can’t bring himself to abandon this one. Even as it nips at his fingers, clearly cautious and mistrusting of him.

He scoops it up, holding it as if it’s the most fragile creature in the world. It looks malnourished, and there’s a notch in its ear that says it lost a fight just recently. His heart nearly breaks for the poor thing.

\--maybe he can afford a detour. Anakin won’t be back until nightfall, after all, his hearings and meetings with his parole officer tend to last for a while. Besides, the kitten needs Obi-wan’s attentions right now, and more than that, it needs the attentions of a veterinarian.

Obi-wan turns right, and heads down the street, to Rig Nema’s veterinary clinic. He holds the little kitten close to his chest and says, softly, “Hello, little one. I’ll keep you safe.”

\--

Obi-wan comes home laden with bags--toys for the cat, who’s currently sleeping quite fitfully in a container, and enough treats to last them a year or so, should all go well. He spares a moment to chuckle to himself, imagining the sight he must’ve made on his way home--Qui-gon must’ve rubbed off on him more than he thought, if he’s rescuing stray cats now too.

He deposits the container onto the coffee table, unlatches the door to let the cat out. Now that she’s clean and manicured, he can see that she’s a very ginger sort of cat, and a curious one as well--she sniffs around the table, before jumping off and landing nimbly on her feet.

“What shall I call you?” says Obi-wan, already half in love with this cat. “Anakin’s out. Can’t have any confusion, and I think he’d be rather jealous if he had to share his name with you. How about--”

He glances to the side, looking for something, _anything_ he can use, and spies his well-loved DVD box set of Satine Kryze’s best movies.

“How do you feel about Satine?” he asks the cat.

The cat turns her eyes on him, and there’s something calculating in them, as if she’s considering this strange human’s words. Then she meows, and headbutts his hand.

That’s it. He is officially in love with this tiny little kitten.

“Satine it is,” he says.

The cat, now named Satine, meows contentedly as he rubs a finger over her head, scratching lightly behind her ears. She doesn’t quite purr just yet, but she seems to like him enough that she hasn’t scratched him up, so he figures he’s on the right track.

Then she breaks away, and clambers up onto the couch.

Obi-wan opens his mouth to very sternly tell her to get _off_.

The cat turns to look at him, with the sweetest, saddest eyes.

Obi-wan shuts his mouth, scrubs a hand over his face. “All right, you can stay there if you like,” he says, resigned. “But just for today.”

She meows happily, and proceeds to pounce on a pillow.

“Wait until you meet Anakin,” Obi-wan says, watching her curl happily up on the pillow. “I’m sure you’ll get along with him splendidly. He quite likes cats.”

\--

(An interlude:

Parole hearings, Anakin’s found, are exhausting, in and out of prison.

Maybe it’s just because of the fact that even up until now, they’re _still_ muddling through all the evidence--a sizable amount, thanks to him, and at this rate, it’ll keep the DA’s office busy for at least a decade or so. Maybe two. Still, it’s kind of tiring to answer questions he’s already answered about twice over, to other people, or to clarify things that _should_ be obvious to anyone with half a brain.

Anyway.

Parole hearings are exhausting, and by the time this one’s done, Anakin just wants to sleep for a week. But to do that, he’s got to get home and, preferably, to a bed.

He’ll take the couch, though. The couch is good enough, and he likes the pillows as well.

All right. Couch it is. He won’t even kick off his shoes, though he can already imagine Obi-wan’s disapproving expression and that thickly-accented _Anakin_ he’s bound to sigh.

Anakin snickers to himself, at the thought. If he had the energy, he’d find some way to make it sound a little more breathless, but as things stand now all he wants is to sleep for about a week or so. Anything more strenuous, unfortunately, will have to wait until said week is over.

He’ll probably have to let Ahsoka know about his plans, he muses. Maybe Solo can do his job for a bit.

He shoves the key in the doorknob and pushes the door open with more effort than he really wants to spend, half-drags himself through the doorway, yawning. “Hey, Ben,” he calls, “I’m going to sleep now, don’t wake me up until the week’s gone,” then he collapses onto the couch.

He does not expect-- _something_ to very viciously attack his face.

He maybe screams a little bit.)

\--

“I see you and Satine have met,” Obi-wan dryly says, after the initial fit of screaming has passed and he’s managed to extricate Satine from Anakin’s head. In retrospect, he supposes he really should’ve seen this coming.

Anakin, gingerly touching the band-aids on his face, says, “You _named_ it?”

He sounds so horrified that Obi-wan kind of wants to break out laughing at him. He’s sure that, were their positions reversed, Anakin would be dying of laughter by now, but Obi-wan prides himself on being much nicer than his boyfriend, so he refrains from full-on laughter.

Anakin scowls at him and says, “You’re _grinning_. You think it’s funny.”

“I had no idea you could read minds now,” says Obi-wan, innocently.

Anakin flaps a hand at him and says, “Fuck you, you know what I mean.”

Satine bats at his hand, and Anakin’s hand snaps back to his side, fast as a whip.

“Please tell me you had it looked at,” he says.

Obi-wan sniffs, says, “Of course I did.”

“And you’re planning on giving it to a shelter?” Anakin hopefully asks.

Obi-wan hums thoughtfully. Then he says, “Absolutely not. She’s here to stay.”

“Or until she slaughters us both in our sleep,” says Anakin, glaring at the cat.

“From my point of view, you’re exaggerating,” says Obi-wan, absently scratching Satine behind the ears and getting a contented meow for his efforts. “She isn’t evil.”

“From _my_ point of view, she _is_ evil,” Anakin retorts. “And you’ve fallen right under her spell, so I’m gonna call Ahsoka so she can smack you on the head and wake you up--”

“Why Ahsoka?” Obi-wan asks, morbidly curious.

“She’s Fulcrum, she can hit very hard,” says Anakin, easily. Obi-wan can’t help but envy him that ease, because even now he still has trouble with the concept. Less now than he did on That Night, but it’s still there.

Then again, it’s not as if Anakin is a stranger to dual identities.

“We’re still keeping the cat,” Obi-wan tells him. “You’ll just have to coexist with her.”

“Artoo’s better than a damn _cat_ ,” Anakin huffs, glaring at Satine. “For one thing, he doesn’t need housebreaking, and he cleans up after himself.”

“He tased me,” says Obi-wan in a very calm tone, deciding not to point out that a Roomba’s primary function is _supposed_ to be cleaning. He has never seen Artoo clean anything in his _life_ , not after Anakin got his hands on the thing.

Anakin rolls his eyes heavenward, the little shit, and says, “He makes a mistake _one time_ and you never let it go, Christ, Ben.”

“Roombas don’t usually _tase people_ ,” Obi-wan says.

“Artoo does,” says Anakin. “He also doesn’t scratch people up, which that cat just did. To _me_ , by the way.”

“You tried to sit on her,” Obi-wan points out. That’s kind of important.

Anakin says, “Why was she even on the _couch_ in the first place, I know cats _shed_ \--”

“You left crumbs on the couch last week even when I very explicitly told you not to,” says Obi-wan. “You have no room to talk.”

Anakin scrunches his face up, narrows his eyes at Satine as if she has just offended every fiber of his being with her mere existence. Satine glares back imperiously, just as offended with Anakin’s very presence, if not moreso.

“I’ve got all the room to talk,” says Anakin, finally snapping his gaze up to Obi-wan’s eyes, defiance evident in the way he crosses his arms and raises his chin.

Obi-wan would be more impressed, really, if they were talking about literally anything else. But they’re just talking about a cat, so this strikes him as more absurd than anything.

It says something about him and the trajectory his life has taken in the past year that he is way too used to absurd by now, really.

“Besides,” Anakin adds, “I could be allergic to cats. You don’t know.”

Obi-wan glances upward at the ceiling and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, I do know,” he says, “because I still remember the cat-sitting job we took when we were broke and you wanted to pet Piett’s cat and earn money for doing it.” He looks back at Anakin and says, “You used to like cats. What happened?”

“One tried to scratch my face off not an hour ago,” says Anakin. “That’s kind of a huge turn-off.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” says Obi-wan, setting Satine down on the coffee table. She mewls, and he runs a finger along the top of her head. “As long as you’ve kept up with your shots, you should be fine.”

“If I say I didn’t are you going to send her to a shelter?” Anakin asks, hopefully. “One of those no-kill shelters, don’t worry.”

“I’d make you get them,” says Obi-wan firmly.

Anakin sighs, and says, “Yes, I’ve kept up.”

\--

(An interlude:

“Did you guys get a _cat_?”

“I wouldn’t say cat,” says Anakin, prodding morosely at his Chinese. There’s a cutesy band-aid on his face that Ahsoka figures must’ve been bought for Luke or Leia, because there is no way Anakin would buy himself band-aids with a smiley sun on them. “I’d say more _demonic hellspawn_ , only Ben won’t listen to me.”

Ahsoka snickers, perches herself up on his desk, and steals a croissant out of his paper bag--chocolate, her _favorite_. “I thought you liked cats,” she says. “Didn’t you take Piett’s cat-sitting job because you wanted to pet his cat as often as you liked?”

“Piett’s cat was a fucking angel, and Piett wasn’t half as terrible as nearly everyone else I used to work with anyway,” says Anakin. “The cat Ben picked up is the _exact opposite_ , and I am pretty sure it’s secretly plotting to kill the both of us in our sleep.”

“You’re sure you’re not just jealous?” Ahsoka asks.

“Why, because he’s showering it with affection?” Anakin grumbles, stabbing a piece of shrimp with extreme prejudice. “Of course not, Snips. What’s your freaky heartbeat thing say?”

“Yeah,” says Ahsoka, looking away and biting into her croissant. It’s _organic_ , she may actually cry a little from how good it is. “Your heartbeat--doesn’t actually change as often as everyone else’s does. When you’re lying.”

Anakin stares at her. “What, seriously? I can fool your super-senses?”

“Not _always_ ,” says Ahsoka, hopping off to pull up a chair and settle down into it. “You do have other tells, and your heartbeat does speed up sometimes--especially when you work yourself up into a panic. And I can always ask other people about whatever it is you’re lying about.” She waves her croissant at him and says, “But--when you were working under Palpatine, I could never tell, either because you were just that good a liar or lawyer--”

“--or because I believed it,” says Anakin, following along. “Oh.”

“And it’s carried over,” she says. “It’s easier now because--you have other tells. Which I am _not_ going to tell you about, Skyguy, I gotta have an advantage.”

“What if I bribed you to tell me?” Anakin asks, reaching into the paper bag to brandish another croissant at her.

“I’d call Obi-wan and tell him you’re regressing,” Ahsoka says, utterly deadpan, before she tilts her head back a little, sniffs the air and says, “and also, how dare you bribe me. And with _blueberry_.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re pretty much a carnivore, you hate blueberry,” says Anakin. “But seriously--Snips, there’s a reason why testimonies that use a polygraph aren’t admissible in court, in most jurisdictions.”

“Because any old schmuck can fool a polygraph with a sharp nail and a shoe, or even just by being stressed by the test itself,” says Ahsoka, slipping into Professor Nu’s no-nonsense tone with ease even after all these years. “Or just by being _really good_ at lying through their teeth.”

“Or by believing what they’re saying,” says Anakin. “Hey, looks like Professor Nu’s boring lecture got through your thick skull after all.”

“I’m not the only one who was napping through that class,” Ahsoka shoots back.

“Yes, you were,” says Anakin, as innocently as possible. His heartbeat changes, ever so slightly, but it _changes_ , going just a half second faster.

“Liar,” says Ahsoka. “Your heartbeat ticked up.”

“What did we just say?” Anakin says, but he’s grinning, the sort of grin that Ahsoka has missed seeing from him in the years that he was under Palpatine’s thumb. God, she’s missed him. “You can’t prove it--”

“You smile when you lie, it’s _terrible_ , I’ll tell Obi-wan you should brush your teeth more often--”

“How do _I_ know you’re not just bullshitting me, Snips, I--hey, that’s _my_ croissant--”)

\--

vi. Obi-wan hasn’t always dreamed of becoming a lawyer. When he was younger, he thought he would follow in the footsteps of his ancestors and become a butcher instead, taking care of the family business.

He thinks it would’ve been a less stressful existence, really, but nowadays he can’t really imagine himself as a butcher. Being a lawyer has become such an integral part of him that he rather thinks he wouldn’t know what to do, if he were to lose his license.

(Which is _possible_ , now, because he’s aiding and abetting a known vigilante, and if word ever gets out--he knows what the fallout would be like.)

Then there’s Anakin, who’s always wanted to be a lawyer, who’s probably the best one Obi-wan knows, who always talked about what kind of offices they would have, when they were high-powered attorneys with their own firm, and what good the both of them could do for Hell’s Kitchen then-- _Skywalker and Kenobi, Ben, we’ll always be_ the _team. Always._

Anakin, who had been disbarred and jailed, who’s likely never going to have his license reinstated.

Who’s hanging back now as they descend from the courthouse, exulting in their victory--and, for once, the money they’re going to get out of this case, because for once, their client is capable of _paying_ them, and paying them well. His mouth twists into a smile, but there’s something bitter about it.

“You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up,” he says. “I just remembered I had something to do here.”

“Hey, Skyguy, come on!” says Ahsoka. “Let’s go to Maz’s. Drinks on me--god, I’ve waited so _long_ to say that.”

Chewbacca gives an approving moan, and Obi-wan thinks he might be grinning behind his thick, bushy beard. It’s hard to tell.

“Too much information, Chewie,” Han tells him. “Just-- _too much_.”

“You three go on ahead,” says Obi-wan, breaking away from the three of them, “I’ll stay with Anakin, help him conclude any business he might have here.”

“Now I’m jealous,” Han says. “I’m starting to want to come with just to not hear Chewie and Maz flirting _again_.”

Chewie makes an offended noise that sounds sort of like actual words, but his accent garbles them enough that Obi-wan can’t tell.

“You’re not the one who has to listen to you two!” Han huffs, shoving lightly at his taller, hairier friend.

“We’ll save some seats for the both of you,” says Ahsoka, grinning, but it drops when Han looks away. She flicks a glance to Anakin, brow furrowing in worry.

Anakin shakes his head, smiles, and it looks almost genuine.

“Try not to hustle anyone too hard,” says Obi-wan, getting an indignant protest from Han and an insincere promise from Ahsoka in reply as they head off, with Chewbacca in the middle of their little trio.

Obi-wan waits a few more seconds after they’ve turned the corner, before he turns to Anakin and says, “You don’t actually have anything to do here, do you?”

Anakin shrugs, says, “Other than try and charm the DA’s new intern into cooperating on the Tahiri case, no.” He looks back at the courthouse, lets out a breath. “I still think you could’ve used the Rhysode strategy,” he says, almost petulantly.

“Because that would’ve gone over so well with the judge,” Obi-wan says. “The risk wouldn’t have been worth it, besides.”

“You’re the _Negotiator_ ,” says Anakin, turning to him now, taking his hands out of his pockets to fold them over his chest. “You could’ve spun it around to our client’s favor.”

“Yes,” Obi-wan says, “we _could’ve_. We could also have been held in contempt of court, and the DA already has a grudge against us.”

“Beck has a grudge against everyone,” says Anakin. “Especially if they mess with her supposedly spotless track record. Or if someone drags up the part where she used to work for Palpatine before he fell.” He shrugs, waves a hand towards the courthouse’s doors where Alecia Beck has reemerged, arguing with her co-counsel, and says, “The point is, damn Beck and her grudge, you could’ve pulled off the Rhysode strategy just _fine_.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” says Obi-wan. “It’s a bit too close to unethical for my tastes.”

“There’s nothing unethical about trying to prove someone innocent, that’s kind of the point of your whole job,” says Anakin. “Besides, there’s Snips.” _Fulcrum,_ he doesn’t say, but Obi-wan can hear it in his voice anyway.

“That one, I didn’t have much of a choice in,” says Obi-wan. “As much as possible, though, I’d prefer to defend our clients without resorting to underhanded means. Far less cases to be overturned, that way. Far less of a chance of getting disbarred.”

“Only if you don’t cover your tracks,” says Anakin. “Anyway, the Rhysode strategy’s worked well enough for me in the past.”

“I’m not you, Anakin,” says Obi-wan, stepping closer. “ _You_ were the valedictorian. I have no doubt you could have spun it to our advantage somehow, but as I think you’ve noticed, our styles are very, very different.” He reaches up to Anakin’s ear, tucks a stray strand of hair away, and says, “Sometimes I wonder if you’re coping with being disbarred as well as you say you are.”

“You’re not my therapist, Ben,” says Anakin, sounding a little peeved. “And you can adjust your style, I’ve seen it.”

“Not for something borderline unethical,” says Obi-wan. “And I may not be your therapist, but I _am_ your boyfriend. And the last time neither of us tried to talk anything out--”

“--I talked to Palpatine instead,” says Anakin, regret seeping into his tone. “I’m--coping. Really, I am.”

“And we’re standing on the courthouse steps talking instead of celebrating a well-earned victory by getting drunk at Maz’s,” says Obi-wan, dryly, settling his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, “because you’re coping so well.”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk, not me,” Anakin points out.

“You’re the one who wanted to hang back,” says Obi-wan. “I simply decided to keep you company, in case Beck decides to corner you.”

“She wouldn’t, she’s still terrified of me,” says Anakin, with a matter-of-fact tone. Too matter-of-fact, Obi-wan thinks, and not for the first time he thinks back to a sharp suit and a sharper smile, Vader’s words cutting deep. “And I am coping. Really well. I’m working at your firm and everything.”

“And yet you were planning on presumably staring at the courthouse and brooding for some time,” says Obi-wan.

“I don’t _brood_ ,” says Anakin.

“You brood plenty, you did three times yesterday,” says Obi-wan, letting his hand drift to Anakin’s elbow. “Perhaps we can discuss this over some very late afternoon snacks.”

“But it’s like seven and Snips is at Maz’s,” says Anakin. “And Solo and Chewbacca too, I guess. But _Snips_.”

“Ahsoka can take care of herself,” says Obi-wan, and to his relief, Anakin only requires the minimum amount of tugging to come along. “Come on. As I recall, Luminara’s is still open even at this hour.”

\--

Luminara’s bakery is, in fact, still open, and the woman herself is even gracious enough to give Anakin a discount--though Obi-wan suspects it’s because of the numerous repairs he’s been doing here on his off time.

He sends off a quick text to Ahsoka-- _we’ll be very late, do NOT hustle anyone or go early_ \--and silently prays that the response he’ll get from her won’t be a flippant _too late_.

“I am coping,” says Anakin, as they sit down by the window with their cinnamon rolls.

“I didn’t say anything this time,” says Obi-wan.

“Coping,” repeats Anakin, stubbornly. “Yes, I miss the courtroom. Did you want me to admit that? Ahsoka said to watch courtroom dramas or to watch both of you but--it’s just not the _same_.”

“Of course not,” says Obi-wan, a little offended, “and she should know better, god knows we’ve seen more courtroom dramas than we can stomach.”

“You have really weird tastes in TV,” says Anakin, which is rich, really, Obi-wan knows he still watches _Game of Thrones_ despite the steep decline in quality. “But yeah, it’s--it’s not the same.” He props an elbow up on the table, rests his cheek on his hand and looks out the window, says, “Can you imagine not being a lawyer? Being a butcher in London instead like your parents wanted you to?”

Obi-wan’s silent, trying to imagine the scenario--himself, in an apron, in a little shop in London arguing with a customer. The image is absurd, to say the least, and besides, it slips away fast. “It’d be much less stressful,” he says, dryly.

“Ha,” says Anakin. “I’m being serious here.”

“No,” Obi-wan admits. “I was never all that keen on being a butcher anyway.”

“Okay,” says Anakin, “now say that tomorrow, you--lose your license, for some reason, and get thrown in jail. On top of that, there’s the possibility that your cases will be reopened and reinvestigated, and all your hard work is just--” He sets his roll down on the table, snaps his fingers, says, “Gone. Just like that. And you can’t do a damn thing about it, and you can’t get yourself reinstated because every single charge they’ve levied against you is fair, and you’ve let down everyone you’ve ever loved, and they and everyone else hates your guts now. What do you do when you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

“Open a shop for artisanal meats,” says Obi-wan, before he bites into his roll.

“Seriously.”

“I’ve no idea,” Obi-wan admits. A huge part of his life has been built up around being a lawyer, and a damn good one, and to lose all of that, to lose his license and his firm and his reputation? It’s a terrifying scenario to think of, and one that's become all too possible now--at the very least, he’s aiding and abetting three vigilantes.

He looks out at the street, then back at Anakin.

“I’ve wanted to be a lawyer since I was a kid,” says Anakin. “Mom and I saved every little bit we could so I could get into Columbia.” He smiles, but it’s brittle, the sort of smile worn by someone just a hair’s breadth away from breaking. Obi-wan should know, he’s worn the same smile a few times. “I never thought I’d get disbarred.”

“Do you regret it?” asks Obi-wan.

“No,” says Anakin. “If I’ve got any regrets, it’s that I didn’t realize sooner.” He huffs out a breath, says, “You’re all talking to me again, you and Padmé and Ahsoka and Luke and Leia. I’d get myself disbarred again and again for that.” He glances down at his roll, gloved fingers drumming on the table. “I miss it, but I’m okay with--with being on the sidelines. I mean, I can still help.”

“Really,” says Obi-wan. “You know this isn’t the first time you’ve _suggested_ a strategy on the basis that you’d use it, never mind how uncomfortable it’d make me or Ahsoka? There is such a thing called _backseat driving_.”

“I was a pretty good lawyer,” says Anakin, “bribery and blackmail aside. And you’re a good one too.”

“Not the same one as you,” says Obi-wan. “I can’t pull off the Rhysode strategy as well as you can, putting aside some of its more ethical issues.” He points his roll at Anakin before his boyfriend can open his mouth and adds, “And do _not_ say it, I am well aware of how unethical _that_ is.”

Anakin, in answer, bites into his roll, widening his eyes just enough to look innocent.

Obi-wan rolls his eyes and says, “You damn well were going to say it.” He nibbles at his roll, swallows, and continues, “My point is, what worked for you won’t always work for me, or for Ahsoka, and maybe you aren’t coping as well as you say you are.”

“But I’m coping,” says Anakin.

“--Yes,” says Obi-wan, after a moment. “Though I take issue with some of it.”

“I take issue with all the alcohol you’ve got stashed around the apartment,” says Anakin. “No one needs that much vodka.”

“Says the man who drank half my stash two weeks ago,” Obi-wan says.

“It was just a _quarter_ , Christ, Ben--”

\--

(An interlude:

Anakin doesn’t have many things left over from his marriage. He has his wedding ring, a few photographs, videos on his phone he can’t bring himself to delete. Mostly, what he does have are memories, bright and colorful: the soft, silky texture of Padmé’s brown hair, the laughter of his children as he swung them about, the sparks in her kiss.

He can deal with them, most days. He can sit back and appreciate them, smile at a time when everything seemed so much simpler, when love and laughter seemed to be enough for him.

Some days are--harder. Some days, like his wedding anniversary, are hardest of all.

He knows what he’d have done, just three or four years ago. He’d have drowned himself in work, legal or otherwise, and kept going even past his own limits.

But this isn’t three or four years ago, and he doesn’t have any work to do. They’re between clients right now, and Anakin’s already copied most of the files at the office twice over for something to do. If he goes for another try, Ahsoka’s likely to frog-march him back to the apartment.

One thing about the apartment: there’s always a stash of alcohol hidden somewhere. Since Luke and Leia started staying for the weekends more often, Obi-wan’s taken to locking the cupboard so neither of them get their hands on it, but Anakin’s gotten pretty good at breaking and entering over the years. Picking the lock on the cupboard isn’t too hard, it’s deciding on which bottle to pour down his throat first.

Some years ago he’d have at least pretended to have some taste. But that time’s passed, so Anakin grabs what he judges will get him drunk the fastest, cracks it open, and pours himself a shot.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another, till he’s pretty sure he can’t actually stand up anymore. At least, not without either puking his guts out or falling down on the floor.

And that’s when the cat bats at his ankle.

Anakin makes a face, grips on to the table so he can bend down and glare blearily at Obi-wan’s beloved hellspawn. “Stop that,” he tells her.

Satine hisses at him. Anakin would, usually, snap back at her, but tonight he’s too drunk and too tired and too-- _everything_ , really.

“Go away,” he grumbles, pushing her away with his foot. “Go eat a rat, or bother Mrs. Milsome for fish.”

Satine hisses again, darts in to bite at his toes, and that’s how Anakin ends up falling flat on his face trying to get his bare feet away from Obi-wan’s very evil cat.

He’s sort of glad no one else is around to see it, he’s not sure he can take any more blows to his dignity than he’s already had. He pushes himself up to a sitting position on the floor, pulls himself up just enough to grab a bottle off the table, then sinks back down to the floor, bottle clutched close to his chest.

Satine gives an imperious sniff, then trots away. Good, Anakin really doesn’t have the will to deal with her right now.

He opens the bottle, takes a long drink, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the chair leg. He’s sure he made a sizable dent in Obi-wan’s stash by now.

Padmé would be unhappy with him for getting drunk like this, he thinks.

Then again--it’s not as if she’s a stranger to being unhappy with him. It’s not as if he’s a stranger to disappointing the people he loves.

Something curls tighter around his heart. If he were in the mood for poetic metaphors, he’d call it a dragon, made of guilt and fear and worry, gnawing away at his heart.

“Anakin?”

Anakin cracks an eye open. His vision’s a little fuzzy, but he can see a bearded face and sad blue eyes and all he can think is, _Oh, I’m sorry._

“Hey,” he says, hoarsely. “Is it the seventh yet?”

“No, still the sixth,” says Obi-wan, prying the bottle out of Anakin’s loose fingers. “I must say, I really don’t enjoy this role reversal.”

“Now you feel how I know when I pick you up from Maz’s,” says Anakin, before his brain catches up with his mouth. “Wait. Shit. Words.”

“I know,” says Obi-wan. “Can you stand?”

“Think so,” says Anakin, trying to push himself up to a more vertical position. The room lurches, and he grabs on to Obi-wan.

“I suppose that answers my question,” says Obi-wan. “Couch or bed?”

“Bed,” Anakin answers almost instantly.

“Want to talk about it?”

“ _Fuck_ no,” says Anakin. “Sorry ‘bout your stash.”

“I’ll buy more,” says Obi-wan, with a sigh, shoving the bedroom door open as Anakin narrows his eyes at him. At one of him. It’s hard to tell, there’s two--no, _three_ of him. “And don’t give me that look.”

“I take it back, I’m not sorry about your stash,” says Anakin. He lets go of Obi-wan, and the bed comes up to meet him--or probably he’s just fallen into it. That one’s more likely.

“Budge up, Anakin,” says Obi-wan, shucking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He crawls in next to him, an arm snaking around his middle.

Anakin shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry about everything else, though,” he murmurs, soft enough not to be heard.

Obi-wan doesn’t answer, but Anakin knows he heard him, by the way his arm tightens around him.

It’s warm, in this bed, with someone he loves next to him, close enough that Anakin can feel his breath on the back of his neck.

Anakin breathes in, then out, and lets his eyes slide closed.)

\--

vii. Someone once said this, about Obi-wan and Anakin, way back in college: _where Kenobi is, Skywalker will not be far behind._

Obviously it hasn’t held true for all these years. But it holds true today, Anakin falling into step beside Obi-wan as if he never left his side, hands tucked into his pockets, a bruise blooming just underneath his eye where Jocasta Nu’s right hook landed solidly.

“So that could’ve gone better,” Obi-wan says.

“Honestly, I was expecting worse,” says Anakin, a hand coming up to touch the purpling bruise, wincing. “For an old woman, she’s got a pretty good punch,” he says, lightly.

“You’re all right?” Obi-wan asks, stepping closer. “We’ve got some ice in the fridge.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” says Anakin, with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d have come to expect something like this happening. I’m not exactly the most popular guy in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“It doesn’t mean everyone gets a free punch,” Obi-wan huffs.

“Well, not _everyone_ ,” says Anakin. “I have the right to punch back if it’s a mugger.”

Obi-wan rolls his eyes, reaches up to brush a strand of brown hair behind Anakin’s ear. “Not my point,” he says. “I _worry_.”

“You’re biased, you like my face,” says Anakin.

“True,” Obi-wan acknowledges, “but it isn’t just that. You treat physical assault like it’s something normal--and do _not_ say it’s part and parcel of living in Hell’s Kitchen, because it isn’t.”

( _You treat it like you deserve it_ , he doesn’t say.)

“Did you really expect Jocasta Nu not to be pissed at me?” Anakin asks. “I’m the reason she had to close her bookstore.”

“She could’ve just yelled at you,” says Obi-wan, taking him by the arm and tugging him along down the sidewalk. “That, I’d understand.”

“Not everyone’s you or Snips, Ben,” says Anakin. “Look, it’s fine, we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

“You have a _bruise_ ,” says Obi-wan.

“I’ve had worse,” says Anakin. “Ben, seriously, I’m fine. Just peachy, in fact.”

“ _Peachy_ ,” says Obi-wan. “Do you have a cold?”

“Of course not,” says Anakin, with an indignant huff. He looks up, says, “Hey, so how do you feel about the two of us taking Luke and Leia to that Greek place you love so much this weekend?”

It’s a diversionary tactic, employed with about as much subtlety as a bull in a china shop. Obi-wan lets out a long sigh and says, “You’re not very subtle.”

“I’m very good at subtle,” Anakin argues. “Greek place. Luke and Leia. They’ll love it.”

“All right, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” says Obi-wan, and Anakin’s shoulders slump in relief. “When are you going to meet with Ackbar again, by the way?”

“About two days from now,” says Anakin. “Why?”

“How are you going to explain the bruise to him?”

Anakin shrugs. “I’ll tell him an old woman punched me in the face because I fucked her bookstore over seven years ago and I had the gall to show up at her doorstep after that,” he says. “He’ll get it. And it’ll heal.”

“You didn’t have to,” says Obi-wan. “Come with me, I mean. You seem to get punched a lot when I take you to meet old friends of ours.”

“Old friends that I usually fucked over in some way,” says Anakin, as they stop at a red light. “Legal or not. You can’t really blame them for not trusting me.” His head bows, a little, teeth worrying at his lower lip. A habit he must’ve picked up from Padmé, Obi-wan thinks. “But--I have to know. I have to see the damage I did.”

“If you wanted penance,” says Obi-wan, “there’s a church just uptown.”

“Not--Not _penance_ , Ben, or repentance,” says Anakin. “Too damned for that, I think. It’s not something I can talk to a priest about, anyway. Just--it’s balancing the checkbooks.”

“Getting punched in the face is a part of that?” Obi-wan asks. “Because if it is, then you have a strange and possibly unhealthy version of balancing the checkbooks.”

“Nah,” says Anakin, unconvincingly.

\--

“Obi-wan Kenobi!” says Hera Syndulla, leaning on the desk as Obi-wan steps inside the precinct, Anakin just behind him. “And boyfriend,” she adds, somewhat less enthusiastic, eyes narrowing.

“Officer Syndulla,” says Obi-wan, nodding respectfully. “Is Dameron here?”

“Nah, he’s on leave,” says Hera. “Never thought he’d actually go on leave, but hey, good for him.”

“Poe Dameron, on _leave_?” says Anakin. “What, is he sick?”

“Surprisingly, no,” says Hera. “He sounded fine when he called. A little stilted, but fine.” She straightens up and says, “So what can I do for you guys?”

“We’re just here about Aruk,” says Obi-wan. “Anything you might have on him would be exceedingly helpful.”

Hera nods, her gaze sliding to Anakin. “I’ll see what we have,” she says, “but be warned, he’s pretty good at covering his tracks. We haven’t been able to get him for much more than a DUI, and even that he wiggled out of.”

“He’s related to Jabba, what did you expect?” Anakin mutters.

Hera shrugs. “That family’s a lot more resilient than I thought,” she says. “Sit tight, I’ll be back in a flash.”

Obi-wan waits until he’s sure she’s out of earshot before he turns to Anakin and says, “Poe Dameron? On leave?”

“Yeah, we’ll have to tell Snips,” says Anakin, pulling out his phone to text her. “Can’t believe it either--he’s probably the most hardworking _and_ honest cop here.” He looks up from his phone and says, “Good for him, taking a vacation.”

“I don’t know, Anakin,” says Obi-wan, something twisting into an ugly knot in his gut. “I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“Right, you’ve got a bad feeling about the guy whose donut preferences you know best deciding to take a vacation,” says Anakin, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Like you’re not going to charm Syndulla’s out of her.”

“It isn’t _that_ ,” says Obi-wan.

“Then what is it?” Anakin asks.

Obi-wan shakes his head and says, “I’m not too sure. Perhaps it’s only a bad feeling.”

“I could make you feel better if you want,” says Anakin, a corner of his mouth turning upward. “There’s a place just down the street, really out of the way, that serves some _amazing_ fried rice. And no one’s punched me in the face yet there.”

“It worries me that you keep expecting people to punch you in the face whenever you walk into any establishment,” says Obi-wan. “And that half the time it comes true. Or very _narrowly_ comes true.”

“Paranoia’s a hard habit to shake once you’ve learned it,” Anakin casually says. “Anyway, you can’t say I don’t deserve most of them.” He pauses, then adds, “Save that guy from Cato Nemoidia. No idea who _he_ is, other than some drunk asshole who probably saw me on the news.”

“I was _not_ referring to your paranoia,” says Obi-wan, a hand coming up to rub at his temples. “Anakin. No matter what you’ve done, that doesn’t mean people have the right to physically assault you. It doesn’t mean that you suddenly deserve to _be_ physically assaulted.”

Anakin blinks at him for a moment. “You can’t blame them,” he says.

Obi-wan is only human. He briefly fantasizes about smacking Anakin upside his head for choosing _now_ to take the blame when before he tried to shift it on other people, then lets out a long sigh. “Yes, I can,” he says. “You were in jail, you’ve already paid enough for your crimes. Last I checked, that was the point of sending someone to jail.” He holds up a hand before Anakin can open his mouth, and says, “Yes, I know, _balancing the checkbooks_. You can do that without getting punched.”

“That’s nice and all,” says Anakin, “but what are you going to do the next time we meet up with someone we knew and they decide to test out their right hook on my face?”

\--

“Absolutely not,” says Obi-wan, folding his arms and glaring at Nahdar Vebb, who very slowly lowers his fist, still glaring at Anakin. “What would Koon think?”

“He’d ask if I learned anything about restraint in all his classes,” Nahdar says. “But I don’t get _why_ you had to bring _him_ \--”

“Vebb,” says Anakin, with a long sigh, “I’m just here to sit, take notes, and maybe steal a cookie.”

“Do _not_ steal any cookies,” Nahdar says, stepping closer and leaning up on his tiptoes to glare defiantly at Anakin. It’s a comical sight--Nahdar barely reaches up to Anakin’s chin even on his tiptoes, but Obi-wan has seen the man in the boxing ring, has seen him actually _fight_. He has no doubt of just how hard Nahdar’s right hook would be, even years from Ahsoka dragging them to watch his boxing match. “I’m saving them for people who _aren’t you_.”

“Fine,” says Anakin, with a shrug, as he sits down on the couch and pulls out a notebook and pen from his bag, “I won’t eat your cookies.”

Obi-wan glances between him and Nahdar, then sits down beside Anakin. “All right,” he says, “now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, what do you know about Aruk’s plans?”

\--

viii. Obi-wan walks into the apartment after an afternoon hearing, intending mostly to cook himself a late lunch, then maybe nap for a few moments on the couch.

Said couch, he realizes, is apparently occupied now--Anakin’s sitting on it, snoring like a freight train. Leia’s sleeping on him as well, his thigh serving as a pillow for her head, and snoring just as loudly as her father. Satine the cat has hopped up onto the armrest, giving the two Skywalkers a clearly distasteful look.

Obi-wan watches them for a few moments from the doorway, then walks inside to press a soft kiss to Anakin’s forehead.

“Mmf,” Anakin mumbles, one eye cracking open. “You’re home,” he says, smiling softly.

“You and Leia seem to be getting along,” says Obi-wan.

Anakin’s quiet for a moment. “She told me how her week was,” he says. “I mean, yeah, she just bitched about this girl not helping out in a group project and nearly costing them the whole thing, but--she told me how her week was.” He breathes out and looks down at Leia, a hand dropping from the back of the couch to absently card through her hair. “Progress,” he says.

“I can see that,” says Obi-wan. “Do we still have leftovers from yesterday?”

Anakin nods towards the kitchen, says, “We’ve still got some yangchow left over in the fridge, I think. How was the hearing?”

“Ahsoka tore apart every argument Jonus made, you should’ve seen it,” says Obi-wan. “She had the jury from the opening speech.”

“Told you that you didn’t have to worry,” says Anakin. “Luke’s out with his softball team right now, says he’s going to celebrate today’s win with more ice cream than he can stand.”

“You’re not worried?” Obi-wan asks.

“I ran an incredibly extensive background check on his friends and their parents years ago,” says Anakin. “The worst any of them have ever done was get arrested for protesting against an unfair court verdict.”

“Don’t do that,” Leia mumbles. “S’creepy and invasive, Dad.”

Anakin’s eyes grow almost comically wide for a moment, before he and Obi-wan look down at her. She turns over, mashing her face into her father’s pant leg.

“No background checks,” she mutters, eyes still closed.

“She does have a point,” says Obi-wan.

Anakin glances upward at the ceiling. “Fine,” he sighs theatrically. “No more extensive background checks, I guess.”

“Mmf,” is all Leia says.

Obi-wan smiles. “Do either of you want food?” he asks.

There’s a meow from the other end of the couch.

“Shut up, you evil hellspawn, I fed you already,” says Anakin, glaring at Satine, who fixes her own heated glare on him.

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-wan sternly says.

“She is, though!”

\--

Obi-wan Kenobi kisses Anakin Skywalker on a Friday afternoon and says, “Shall we go pick up Luke from the ice cream parlor?”

“Only if I get to come along,” says Leia from the kitchen, sipping from a glass of water, and Obi-wan silently mourns the contents of his wallet. Leia and Luke in the same ice cream parlor always ends in both of them clutching their heads and swearing never to return and Obi-wan’s and Anakin’s wallets weighing a great deal less. “I’m gonna beat Luke this time.”

“I don’t know, I think he’s got a head start,” says Anakin.

“Please don’t encourage them,” says Obi-wan, but he’s smiling, and for the first time in maybe a long while, his heart feels much, much lighter.

For the first time in a long, long while, his apartment feels like _home_.

\--

fin.


End file.
